I can still hear my brother screaming in my ear
Yelling at me to wake up.
The calm before the storm.
Just moments before my fall.

One moment you’re invincible,
Nothing in the world can hurt you.
And the next, you’re standing outside your house,
In the cold October air,
Praying.

Suddenly these people,
Your neighbors, who never seemed to care,
Are giving you shoes.
And shelter.
And suffocating embraces.

They tell you not to watch. 
They tell you it’s late.
And they tell you to go in their house,
Where it is safe.

But their house has never been safe before.
Your house was safe
Your house was a constant

You almost say yes
But then you turn
And you watch

You can’t go somewhere safe and warm.
You have to stay outside,
And you have to watch,
As everything that seemed to be
So safe and comforting
Turns to ash.

I can still hear my mother screaming
As her tires exploded
And I can still feel the fireman patting my shoulder,
As the glass shattered

They told me I could cry,
And I didn’t have to keep a straight face.
But I couldn’t cry.
I knew once I started I wouldn’t be able to stop.

I wanted to forget, 
But the images were burned into my brain. 
   
Because when stuff like this happens
And it changed you forever. Like really big things do.
The fire might have burned
Bright that night
It ignited something inside of you.